Christian Williams

The whiteness of my skin scares me, pallor like that of an albino. Looking down, his black pupils absorbing all light. All life. Seeing through me as I lay on my back, the sad obsidian mist splashing my face keeping me half conscious. I blink hard and cough, clear my throat. The tics stop.

He waits. Chewing on the inside of his dry mouth and flicking his tongue across his teeth as if digging out a piece of pork. Hands deep in the coat pockets and shoulders raised to his jaw as smoke trails across his yellow face. The cold bites his ears. He waits.